Harste years
I started first grade that spring of 1947..my teacher,Frau Lange,the 2nd of the influential women in my life.The first was my Mother.She had come down with Polio and had to wear a support on her legs to get around but she had books and that was most important to me.My German language skills( speaking and writing) were not up to standard.I had missed two years of schooling...no such things as Pre-Kindergarden and Kindergarden classes in my life.My folks made me memorize the multiplication tables( up to 12X12) and read my Father's field bible and memorize songs of all sorts.However...fairytales and hero books were my favorites and Frau Lange had them in her collection for there was no library in the area.Because of some limitation the village kids teased me and called me Polak Well...this let to fights with girls and boys.One incident was with a girl who pulled my hair but she had a bigger brother and I was in trouble.No one stepped in to stop the fight...I was on the ground,..face down and covering my head...crying as I was pummeled. An adult must have stopped in and I was saved from being hurt.I learned my lesson...don't pick on bigger kids and be more diplomatic.
I started first grade that spring of 1947..my teacher,Frau Lange,the 2nd of the influential women in my life.The first was my Mother.She had come down with Polio and had to wear a support on her legs to get around but she had books and that was most important to me.My German language skills( speaking and writing) were not up to standard.I had missed two years of schooling...no such things as Pre-Kindergarden and Kindergarden classes in my life.My folks made me memorize the multiplication tables( up to 12X12) and read my Father's field bible and memorize songs of all sorts.However...fairytales and hero books were my favorites and Frau Lange had them in her collection for there was no library in the area.Because of some limitation the village kids teased me and called me Polak Well...this let to fights with girls and boys.One incident was with a girl who pulled my hair but she had a bigger brother and I was in trouble.No one stepped in to stop the fight...I was on the ground,..face down and covering my head...crying as I was pummeled. An adult must have stopped in and I was saved from being hurt.I learned my lesson...don't pick on bigger kids and be more diplomatic.
In Germany we went to school all year around with time off for holidays only. I must have absorbed things in a hurry...I was 8y starting out and by 11y graduating from fourth grade.Frau Lange was my only teacher during those years.The change in grades was always at Easter time and always got new pair of shoes and something new to wear around that time from my folks.
I liked sports but never was on a soccer team..ever in my life.The running sport was my game...had to be fast to get away from some of my tormentors which was sometimes my own fault.Track became my sport and later in high school in USA, I was good enough to go to the state meet to find out how slow I was as compared to the Chicago boys who left me in the dust in the 400 yard race.My HS days is another story to tell.
The woods were my playground.I discovered the hazelnut bushes and its rewards.The wild flowers seemed to wink at me ....pick me ,pick me....and I did.In a wooded area called the Weinberg(Winehill) outside of the village was full of big beech trees and in their shadow I found the Lilies of the Valley(Mai Gloeckchen). Every time I take in the aroma of that flower, I am back in that forest and among the giant beech trees.If I only could invent that machine to do that transfer...I know the mind can do that and in some cases one never returns. There is danger in scientific discoveries.
About 3to 5 miles away was a wooded area that hid an WWII ammunition depot from the Allied bombers.With the occupation forces in place( Harste was in the British Zone),the old ammunition was being destroyed...blown up.Day after day I heard those explosions.Later when everything was destroyed or dismantled, my Dad and his group went there to salvage the wood. I went looking too...big craters full of water ...like a battle scene.Metal shrapnel embedded in the giant beech trees. Some of the trees blown to pieces others held their ground with metal sticking out of the trunks.
When I first came to the village there was a burned out German battle tank on the side of the road. I saw the big hole near the turret....the death blow that killed all the members of the team inside.They had been buried in the cemetery that later became the resting place for my Grandparents,the Redschlags.A big iron cross market their place.I guess no military cemetery in the area.I climbed on that tank and looked inside...tight quarters.The curiosity over came the fact that four men had lost their lives in one blinding and ear shattering moment.I hope that they were dead when the fire consumed their bodies.My God..My God... the price of war one has to pay.
The woods were my playground.I discovered the hazelnut bushes and its rewards.The wild flowers seemed to wink at me ....pick me ,pick me....and I did.In a wooded area called the Weinberg(Winehill) outside of the village was full of big beech trees and in their shadow I found the Lilies of the Valley(Mai Gloeckchen). Every time I take in the aroma of that flower, I am back in that forest and among the giant beech trees.If I only could invent that machine to do that transfer...I know the mind can do that and in some cases one never returns. There is danger in scientific discoveries.
About 3to 5 miles away was a wooded area that hid an WWII ammunition depot from the Allied bombers.With the occupation forces in place( Harste was in the British Zone),the old ammunition was being destroyed...blown up.Day after day I heard those explosions.Later when everything was destroyed or dismantled, my Dad and his group went there to salvage the wood. I went looking too...big craters full of water ...like a battle scene.Metal shrapnel embedded in the giant beech trees. Some of the trees blown to pieces others held their ground with metal sticking out of the trunks.
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